A Gift in Music
by ilovesunshine93
Summary: "Giving gifts has never been an area of my expertise. And neither is finding the right words to say. But I assure you that my musical abilities are satisfactory, so if you'd allow me, I'll let this do the talking."


_A/N: Hey guys, just an idea that refused to leave my head. I had to get it down or I wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything else! :p _

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, except these words._

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_**A GIFT IN MUSIC**_

Molly Hooper had been working since six in the morning. It was now close to eight at night and she wanted nothing more than to lie in her bathtub with a glass of wine. Maybe she would order her favourite Chinese food and watch a few episodes of _Downton Abbey _with Toby curled up by her side.

But she still had an hour left before her shift ended, owing to the fact that they were recently quite understaffed. Pathology was definitely not a field of science that many people were interested in. Sighing, she continued flipping through the stack of autopsy reports on her desk, every minute a definite torture. Her eyes swept over the words but none of them were processed by her mind.

She was just about to nod off when the lab doors swung open suddenly, jolting her from her semi-conscious state. She couldn't control the wave of annoyance that chorused through her, disgruntled that someone had just barged in noisily. She rubbed her eyes sleepily and looked up, hoping that it wasn't her boss, Stamford, coming in to pass her more autopsy files.

Her eyes widened at the sight of Sherlock Holmes standing in front of her. He had removed his large Belstaff coat and dark blue scarf, staring down at her intently with those light eyes of his that saw everything, making everyone feel exposed and vulnerable. She noticed that he was wearing his deep purple dress shirt – the one she loved so much. In spite of herself, she felt her tiredness start to fade a little. She couldn't stop admiring the stark contrast the deep colour made against his pale skin.

"Hello Molly," he greeted her pleasantly. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"Hi Sherlock," she smiled sleepily. She wondered what he was doing here on a Saturday night without his crime-solving partner and best friend, John Watson - he rarely came into the lab alone. She opened her mouth to ask but stopped herself when she realised that he was opening a black case and removing a beautiful violin, the body a rich, warm brown that reflected the artificial light in the lab, making it shine alluringly. She was so exhausted that she hadn't seen him carry the case in.

"What are you doing?" she enquired curiously, feeling more awake than ever now.

Sherlock gave no indication that he had heard her. He propped the violin on his shoulder swiftly, his long fingers curling around the base of the bow elegantly, poised to play. His eyes bore into hers, blue to brown, and she felt transfixed, unable to look away. He studied her expression intently and she felt like he was peering right into the depths of her soul. Molly shivered involuntarily – his intense gaze was making her slightly uncomfortable. After what seemed like eons to her, he finally spoke.

"Giving gifts has never been an area of my expertise. And neither is finding the right words to say. But I assure you that my musical abilities are satisfactory, so if you'd allow me, I'll let this do the talking," he gestured to his instrument with his bow, a small smile tugging on his perfectly shaped lips.

Molly nodded, completely bewildered. She had no clue whatsoever about what Sherlock was doing and why he was doing it. However, she knew better than to ask – he would probably pack up and leave if she did. He didn't like people doubting him. Plus, she couldn't deny the fact that she was absolutely intrigued. She had never heard him play the violin before. All thoughts of sleep had already escaped from her mind.

She noticed Sherlock's eyes brightening slightly at her assent before he took a deep breath and drew his bow across the violin strings gently, his slim fingers placed delicately on the fingerboard, arranged to the position of a chord.

Sherlock closed his eyes as the opening notes rose from the instrument.

In an act of complete reversal, Molly's eyes widened instead. The tune that rose melodically towards her was familiar – she had heard it every year. Every year until five years ago. Her throat became tight and tears started to well up in her eyes.

As Sherlock's fingers danced on the fingerboard gently, the melody gradually morphed into something else that she hadn't heard before. She felt the music wrapping around her, pulling her in, embracing her and claiming her for its own. Her spirits rose as the notes permeated the lab room exquisitely, making her heart thunder against her chest, the beats etching an invisible tattoo on her skin. She closed her eyes, enjoying the flow of the melody that transported her to places that looked like paradise. Images of gushing rivers, falling autumn leaves and endless green pastures burnt in her retina.

All too soon, Sherlock drew the last note across the strings. He opened his eyes and was startled to find Molly sobbing quietly, her small figure shaking lightly.

"Not good?" he asked worriedly, placing his instrument on the table. He was never good at this. Was it a happy cry or a 'you made me sad' cry?

Molly shook her head vigorously and saw Sherlock relax at her movement. His tight expression softened and surprisingly, he waited patiently for her to control her emotions.

She stepped closer to him, trying hard to breathe properly. "I didn't know you remembered my birthday," she managed to choke out amid the tears.

"Ah, I thought you would recognise the ridiculous birthday tune at the beginning," Sherlock smiled teasingly. "I decided that it was too stupid a tune to sing at every birthday so I created something new as an addition to the original. How did you find my composition?"

"It's beautiful Sherlock," she said sincerely, happiness flowing through her entire being.

He smirked slightly at her words. "I told you that my musical abilities were satisfactory," he said smugly. Molly couldn't help smiling at his child-like behaviour. He looked just as proud as a child that had received a gold star for his performance.

Sherlock's expression suddenly turned serious and he stared intently at her again, making her forget how to breathe. "Of course I remember your birthday, Molly Hooper." He paused a while before continuing. "I also remember that you don't celebrate your birthday, probably because you used to celebrate it with your father, who passed away five years ago. You don't have any close friends, so at present, you always spend it alone with your cat."

He saw her eyes turning sad at the mention of her father and lack of friends, and he felt bad for mentioning them. He still couldn't find a way to filter his words when he was deducing. But her expression soon softened again and he breathed a sigh of relief inwardly. He was unsure as to why her sad expression pained him but it did.

"I have you," she mumbled shyly, looking to the ground.

Molly always had a way of saying things that made him lose his ability to speak. This was one of those moments. He simultaneously felt his chest tighten and warmth filling his body at her words. It was a feeling he had never experienced before and he locked it away in his mind palace, wanting to inspect it later. He knew that she was expecting an answer but he was afraid to say anything. Words from him never seemed to end up well. _Action then, _he decided.

He leaned in and kissed her warm cheek softly, hearing her sharp intake of breath as his lips touched her skin. "That you do," he said simply.

And it was the truth. She did have him, as he had her. Two lonely people who had formed a bond years ago despite their severely contrasting personalities. Sherlock had never thought about it before, but he realised that they were like two opposite poles of a magnet. Different, but unable to stay away.

"Can I give you a hug?" Molly asked suddenly.

He was somewhat startled by this request but before he had the opportunity to reply, she had already flung her arms around his neck, embracing him as tightly as her small frame allowed her to.

He hesitated before wrapping his arms around her, unused to such intimacy. He could smell her strawberry scented shampoo and couldn't help smiling. He had always been fond of that particular fruit. He felt her place a light kiss on the side of his jaw and he was surprised to find that he quite liked the feeling of her lips against his skin. It was…comforting. And he sort of wanted to feel it again. _Interesting, _he thought.

Molly pulled away after a while, giving him one of her sweet smiles that he had secretly grown to love over the years. He suddenly noticed the darkened circles under her eyes and realised that she had been working her fingers to the bones. This observation unsettled him - he was not one for celebrations, but surely people did not work endlessly on their birthdays. He made a quick decision.

"Dinner?"

"I'd love to but I still have work," she replied, gesturing to her pile of autopsy files a little sadly.

"Ignore them. You can finish them tomorrow."

"But – "

"Molly, it's your birthday. Normal people don't just sit in a lab on the anniversary of their birth. I'll think of an excuse to tell Stamford it the need arises. He shouldn't be allocating such long shifts to you in the first place anyway."

"I…ok," she relented.

Sherlock gave her one of his boyish smiles as she went to put on her coat and tie her pink scarf around her neck.

He saw that she had a look of pure joy on her face. Again, he felt that familiar pang in his chest. _You haven't been happy enough, Molly Hooper, _he thought. He was somewhat fond of that look on her face and in spite of what he had brainwashed himself about the liability that emotions and sentiment brought about, he wanted that look to remain on her face.

Just as they were leaving the lab, he remembered that he had not exactly wished her a 'happy birthday' yet. Also wanting to experience the feel of her lips again as well, he came to an unexpected resolution. _Just k__illing two birds with one stone, _he thought practically.

He turned her to face him, noting the startled look on her tired face. Without a second thought, he pressed his lips gently against hers, feeling the heat rush through his body. It was an extremely pleasant sensation and again, he catalogued it in his mind palace for future inspection.

"Happy birthday, Molly Hooper," he said softly, breaking the kiss. He saw that her cheeks had become unnaturally red from her blushing and couldn't help smirking slightly at the effect he had on her. Secretly, he was having a bit of trouble breathing but decided that it was unwise to tell her this.

She rolled her eyes slightly at his smirk and they stepped out of St. Bart's into the cold, night air together, two lonely figures united for one night, the memory of his composition for her still playing warmly in their hearts.

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_Thanks for reading, I hope you all enjoyed it! _

_Pls review, they always make my day! :)_


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